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Sappers and Miners; The Flood beneath the Sea, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 49. Sam Hardock At His Worst |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY NINE. SAM HARDOCK AT HIS WORST Gwyn tugged and strained at the block, hoping to dislodge it as he had the former one; but his efforts were vain, and at last, with his fingers sore and the perspiration streaming down his face, he backed down the steep chimney-like place, satisfied that Grip must have made his way through the narrow aperture beneath one corner of the block, where the wind rushed up, but perfectly convinced that without the aid of tools or gunpowder no human being could force a way, while the very idea of gunpowder suggested the explosion causing the tumbling down of the rock around to bury them alive. "Well," said Joe, looking up at him anxiously, with his face showing clearly by the open door of his lanthorn, "can we get farther?" Gwyn felt as if he could not reply, and remained silent. "You might as well tell me the worst." "I'm going to try again," said Gwyn, hoarsely, and he glanced at Hardock, who was lying prone on the rock with his face buried in his hands. "The way's blocked up." "Then we shall have to lie here till the water comes gurgling up to fill this place and drown us, if we are not smothered before." "We can't be smothered in a place where there is so much air." "I don't know," said Joe, thoughtfully--his feeling of despair seeming to have deadened the agony he had felt; "I've been thinking it out while you were grovelling up there like a rat, and I think that the air will soon be all driven out of the mine by the water. Ugh! hark at it now. How it comes bubbling and racing up there! If you put your head over the edge of the rock there, it's fit to blow you away, and it smells horribly. But can't you get any farther up?" "No, not a foot. Go up and try yourself." "No," said Joe, slowly. "A bit ago I felt as if I could do anything to get out of this horrible place; but now I'm fagged, like Sam Hardock there, and don't seem to mind much about it, except when I think of father." "Don't talk like that," cried Gwyn, passionately, "I can't bear it. Here, we must do something; it's so cowardly to lie down and die without trying to get out. You go up there, and perhaps you will do better than I did." "No; you tried, and you're cleverer than I am." "No, I'm not. You try. You shall try," cried Gwyn, with energy. "Go up at once. Stop; let's put up a fresh candle." "It's of no use; you can't--I've been trying." "Joe! Don't say there are no more candles." "Wasn't going to. There's one, but the wick's soaked and it won't burn." Gwyn snatched at the candle, examined the blackened end and sodden wick, and then turned it upside down, holding the bottom end close to the flame of his own light and letting the grease drip away till fresh wick was exposed and gradually began to burn. "I should never have thought of doing that," said Joe, calmly, as he lay on his chest resting his chin upon his hands. "There," cried Gwyn, sticking up the fresh candle in the tin sconce, and waiting till the fat around it had congealed. "Now you go on up, and see what you can do. Keep the door side of the lanthorn away from the wind." "Must I go?" said Joe, dolefully. "Yes, if you want to see the poor Major again." "Ah!" sighed Joe, and taking the lanthorn, he crawled up to where Gwyn had been, while the latter searched eagerly round to try and find out some other opening. But, saving that by which they had come, and up which the whistling, roaring and gurgling increased in intensity, and sounded as if some writhing mass of subterranean creatures were fighting their way through the dark passage to escape from the flood, there was not the smallest crack, and he turned again to where Joe was passing out of sight, his boot soles alone visible as he slowly crawled up the narrow chimney-like place. Then they disappeared, and Gwyn turned to where Hardock was lying on his face. "Sam," he said. There was no reply. "Sam!" he cried, angrily now; and the man slowly raised his face and gazed at him reproachfully. "Might let me die in peace," he groaned. "You rouse up, and try and help us," said Gwyn, firmly; and his will being the stronger, the man began to raise himself slowly into a sitting position, shuddering as he listened to the furious hurricane of sounds which came up the narrow rift. "It's only a noise, Sam," said Gwyn. "I say, there has never been any mining done up here, has there?" "Never, sir. It's all natural rock. Look at the crystals." "That's what I thought. But look up there at Joe." "Eh? Where's Mr Joe Jollivet?" "Clambering up that hole where Grip must have gone. He must have got up to the surface." Hardock shook his head. "Why not?" continued Gwyn, eagerly. "The wind rushes up there." "Ay, but wind will go where even a mouse couldn't." "But if Grip hadn't got up there, he'd have come back." "If he could, sir--if he could. But don't, don't ask me questions; I'm all mazed like, and can't think or do anything. I only want to go to sleep, sir, out of it all, never to have any more of this horror and trouble." "Look here, Sam," continued Gwyn; "this noise of the wind coming up means the water filling up the passages and driving it out, doesn't it?" "I s'pose so, sir." "How long will it be before the mine is quite full of water?" "Who knows, sir? Tends on how big the hole is. Maybe hours, for it's a vasty place--miles of workings." "Then the water won't come up to us till the passages are all full." "No, sir, and maybe not come to us at all. We may be too high." "Too high? Of course. If we're above sea-level now, it won't reach us." "No, sir. You see the mouth of the mine's quite two hundred feet above sea-level, the workings are all below." "Then we may escape yet?" "Escape, sir?" said Hardock, despairingly. "How?" "Grip has gone up to grass." "Ay, perhaps he has escaped," said Hardock, dismally. "And if he has, do you think he will not bring us help? Why, it may come any time." "Yes, to the hole he got out of; and it'll take five years to dig down through the solid rock to get us out. Nay, Master Gwyn, you may give it up. We're as good as dead." A faint sound, half groan, half cry, arrested them; and Gwyn hurried to the crack up which Joe Jollivet had crawled. "What is it? Can you get by?" "No, no," came back faintly, the words being half drowned by the noise of the wind; "stuck fast." "Oh, why did he grow so long and awkward!" muttered Gwyn. "Here, Joe, turn round a bit and try and come back on your side." "Been trying hard, and I can't come back." Gwyn's heart sank, and he hesitated for a few moments, till the piteous word "Help!" reached his ears, when he crept into the hole, leaving his lanthorn burning outside, sheltered from the current of air which rushed to the outlet, and began to crawl up as fast as he could. "Help!" came again. "Coming. You must turn." "Can't, I tell you. Oh, Ydoll, old fellow, it's all over now I--ah!" Then there was a wild cry that petrified Gwyn, just as he was nearing the place where Joe had managed to wedge himself, for it might have meant anything. Then came relief, for Joe cried exultantly-- "My arm wedged round the block of stone; I've got it out." It was Gwyn's turn to cry "Ah!" now, in the relief he felt; and for a few minutes he lay listening to the peculiar rustling noise beyond him, unable to stir. But he was brought to himself by a kick on the crown of his head, and began to back away from his companion's feet as fast as he could, getting out at last to find Sam Hardock kneeling by the hole, lanthorn in hand, looking utterly despondent. "It's no good, my lad," he said, with a groan. "What's the use o' punishing yourself in this way? You ought to know when you're beat." "That's what Englishmen never know, Sam," cried Gwyn. "Ay, so they say, sir--so they say; but we are beat now." The appearance of Joe's boots put an end to their conversation; and a few minutes after he turned his face to them, looking ghastly in the feeble light of the lanthorns. "Thought I was going to die caught fast in there," he said, with a sob, "Oh, Ydoll, it was horrible. You can't think how bad." "Lie down for a bit and rest," said Gwyn, gently, for the poor fellow was quite hysterical from what he had gone through; and without a word he obeyed, lying perfectly still save when a shudder shook him from head to foot, and he clung fast to Gwyn's hand. "Do you think you could do any good by trying?" said Gwyn at last. "Me, sir?" said Sam. "No; I'm too big. I should get stuck fast." "No, there's room enough. He got himself fixed by wedging his arm in beyond the stone." "Yes, that was it," sighed Joe; and, to the surprise of both, Hardock picked up his lanthorn, crawled to the hole, thrust it in and followed, while the two lads lay listening to the rustling sounds he made, half drowned by the shrieking and whistling of the wind. In about a quarter-of-an-hour he backed out, drawing his light after him. "It's of no use, my lads," he said; "we may shake hands now, for we've done all that we can do. I've been trying hard at that stone, but it's wedged in fast. A shot o' powder might drive it out, but our hands aren't powder nor dinnymite neither, and we may give it up." No one spoke, and they lay there utterly exhausted in mind and body, hour after hour, while their clothes began slowly to dry upon their bodies. The rush of wind and the gurgle of water went on as if it were boiling violently; and something like sleep overtook them, for they did not move. But from time to time Gwyn bent over one or the other of the lanthorns to see to the candles, his one great dread being now lest they should sink into a deep stupor, and come to, finding that they were in the dark. Then suddenly, after lying down for some time trying to imagine that it was all some terrible dream, there was a quick, short bark; and unable to bear this, the lad uttered a wild cry, and then, from the terrible tension being taken so suddenly from off his nerves, he burst into a hysterical fit of laughter. The next minute Grip was licking at his face, following it up by the same endearment bestowed upon the other two, and then bursting into a prolonged fit of barking. _ |
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